Eurovision
by Scones Of Rage
Summary: During the Eurovision, Canada begins to think back to the time that England found him... Done by a Rp I had with a friend. Canada/England


It was 2012 and America was once again, having an outrageous fit.

"Why can't I be in the Eurovision! I'm the Hero- plus, my country has the best music around!" the hot headed American shouted from his perch on a chair's armrest.

England shook his head, his short wild hair bouncing from his position on the couch "You're not a Erupeon country, of course you can't compete! And your music is bloody horrible!" He taunted.

America scowled "Iggy! My music is not THAT bad! Hey, you're in the Eurovision tooNot fair! Does everyone have to use the Euro to get in?" The American sat on the couch next to his English friend, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

He shook off America's arm "I don't use the Euro, I use Pounds"

"Pounds of what? Oh! Is it bacon?"

"No! Pounds as in Money you bloody wanker!"

"Well excuse me!"

"You need to know this America! How can you be a country?"

"Because I'm awesome!"

"Keseseseses! I am zhe only awesome one here!"

"Prussia shut up!"

A small figure watched from his lonely seat, his purple eyes lingering on the Englishman's figure, a soft smile makes way to his face, clearing it of its loneness.

"England is so kind…"

"Who are you?

"I'm Canada, the one who feeds you"

The polar bear in his arms looked up and blinked before yawning and falling asleep in his master's arms. The Canadian only shook his head with a heavy sigh, his curl bouncing in liveliness.

"Learn some manners America! You can't talk to me like that- remember who raised you?" The Brit shouted

"Yeah! But as far as I'm concerned, I'm not your little brother anymore!" The American roared in return.

Canada frowned at America's retort "He shouldn't say those things…. It's cruel, especially after what England went through"

Canada looked around, all the countries around him were shouting at one another, whether they were drunk or not, and some where just talking and laughing, enjoying each other's company. The TV blared the chosen music of each country, on right now was Echo (You and I), France's chosen song.

He had to grimace at the thought of France, not that he didn't love his Papa; it's just that… they haven't shared the best of memories. One thought bubbled up into Canada's mind, making his eyes water at the thought of the 1500's.

Flashback

The bitter cold air whipped around and danced about on the winds, causing the small, helpless boy to shutter. The cold air slapped at his small chubby cheeks, making them glow red from the abuse. Tears streamed from his violet eyes in long torrents, cooling the redness from his cheeks ever so slightly. His dirty blonde hair waved around his face, a small curly cue curl stood out from his head. His small form was only dressed in a light blue night gown and constricted tightly by his arms was a baby polar bear cub.

He stood in the snow; across from him was a tall man, one with hair exactly like his but without the curl. His eyes were a hardened blue and a little bit of stubble grew on his face. He wore a long blue coat and black slacks, along with a white button down shirt and boots. He was fancy, but unaware of the little boy even with his plea's.

"Papa?"

The man did not react to the cry.

"Papa! Ou Vas-tu? Papa…"

The Frenchman stopped in his tracks and turned around, only to walk in a different direction, right past the little boy.

"Papa… sil vous plait… ne me quitte pas…"

He stared out as the man, apparently his father, just walked away, leaving him in the snow. All alone.

His tears grew larger as his fathers figure grew smaller, his knee's became weak, all knobby and jello-like, soon he fell to the ground, a sobbing, trembling mess. His sobs could be heard for miles, though he had a quiet voice, no one could miss those bell-like cries of misery.

"Oh my…"

The boys body tensed and slowly he turned his chubby face to the person who stood behind him, hands stuffed into his pockets.

The man was tall, but not as tall as his father was, and his eyes where pools of emerald gems. His hair was short and messy, unlike his own curly hair, and a worried frown was on his face. He had thick eye brows, ones that looked like caterpillars, and his pale face was unmarred. He wore a red British war coat, one tattered from battle and white pants with black boots.

"I knew France could never take care of a child" He walked close to him and wrapped his arms around the boy. "I'm sorry I never got to you sooner…." He whispered, voice laced with true concern and worry.

'Why…?' the thought crossed through his mind but, he soon gave in and hugged the older man.

The man picked up the child "My name is England, now lets see you home… and get you something to eat to!"

The boy shivered and tightened his grip on the England's coat "O-ok" he whispered before asking. "Mister, w-why did Papa leave?"

The boys voice was shaky and caused the man to stop walking, a stunned look on his face. Maybe he didn't expect the boy to ask? "Um, I don't know, maybe he just..." England tried to find the right words but nothing really came up. "Forgot"

The child sighed and closed his eyes "O-ok, Merci Mister" and with that, he proceeded to burry himself into England's jacket and fall asleep peacefully.

England smiled before realizing one detail "Haha! You remind me of America!" he chuckled while closing his jacket around the small one to protect him of the snow. He only cuddled in closer to Englands warmth without knowing, a happy, care free smile was left on his face. While staring at the child, a question arose in him throat, one he should have asked while the child was still awake.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Canada…"

End Flash Back

Canada's eyes watered at the short clip that ran through his mind, that had to be one of the happiest moments of his life, well, that and the fact that he didn't have to eat England's food.

England had always been nice to him, never really yelling at him, or at least, not like he did his brother. He was always good for England, always making him happy and doing choirs around the house, if England was happy, the food was good. That was a plus, but with America around, the food never got better. When he left Englands care, he wasn't as mad or devastated when America left, actually, he seemed, proud.

"Hey ol' Chap, what's wrong? You look like you want to cry or something" A hand landed on the Canadian's shoulder, scaring the living day lights out of him.

His gaze came upon England, who was dressed up in a fancy white button down shirt, black slacks and a nice, crisp red tie. "O-oh, England. H-how are you?" He stuttered

"Good, now are you alright?" he seemed concerned for the younger nation

"Yeah, just remembering is all"

"Remembering what?"

"The Time you took me in"

"Was that Before or after the Moose took out your head?"

"B-Before"


End file.
